One Extra Day
by Ivory Novelist
Summary: I want this to hurt you. Please R&R. No slash intended.


A/N: Eh. This sucks. Oh, well.

No slash intended. Please R&R. Thanks.

* * *

_One Extra Day_

I.

Opening night was Todd's first epiphany. Inspiration burst through his chest, as the crowd rose, and the Dead Poets cheered for their Puck. And Neil - Neil was Life. He illuminated the theater with his smile, with the joy of his fulfilled passion. And his poet brothers below him united in his exaltation. Their faces were the ones Neil searched for, the only ones he cared about.

It was such a high, he didn't think he would ever come down. He had done it. His first night on stage - a victory. Strangers loved him, and it was incredible. The roaring in his ears made his heart throb, and all he could do was laugh nervously. Todd's eyes sparkled at him, and his smile could've lit up the world in the middle of the apocalypse.

Todd didn't think of anything but paradise, as he weaved through the crowd and out into the lobby. But when he saw Mr. Perry escorting Neil outside, he should've remembered what happens to Saviors.

* * *

II.

Neil knows he's great. He knows it. People don't lie; their applause, their uproar was enough reassurance for him. He was meant for this - for acting. Nothing has ever made him this happy. Nothing has ever completed him this way. This is the answer - the answer to every question and empty space he's ever had. It's what he was born to do. At 17, he actually knows his purpose, and he can't let it be taken away.

He doesn't know how long he sits in that chair, listening to the clock tick. His parents are upstairs, getting ready for bed as if tonight wasn't a big deal. He should be angry - but he isn't himself.

If only they'd seen him. If only they had been sitting there since the beginning, watching him. Maybe they wouldn't hate him if they knew he wasn't just screwing around. He has it! God damn it, he does! Everyone can see that - except his own parents.

Don't they want him to be happy? Parents are supposed to want the best for their children; shouldn't they want him to be happy? Can't they understand that _this_ makes him happy? And if they do - how could they possibly want to prevent him from it? That isn't love. He shakes his head; that isn't love.

He gets up, turns out the light, and takes his time on his way upstairs. He finds his things on the bed - the bed that he hasn't slept in for three months and that never keeps him warm. He doesn't undress. He wants to hold onto this - to himself - for as long as he can.

He sheds the shirt and goes to the open window - resisting a shiver when the winter draft touches his bare skin. He bows his head and decides - knowing there is no other way. He can't be bothered to write a note. He can't run away.

He leaves his crown on the windowsill.

* * *

III.

Todd feels uneasy without Neil in their room. It's the first night he'll sleep here without his beloved friend across from him, in the other bed. Everything's cold and dark and quiet. Charlie bitched enough on their way back about Mr. Perry; he doesn't have to go on now. Knox is privately relishing his new breakthrough with Chris, who gave him a kiss on the cheek before getting in her car to go home. Meeks and Pitts are already in bed, reading. Cameron is slinking around aimlessly.

"Night, Todd," Charlie says, peeking in. Todd looks up at him.

"Night."

Charlie purses his lips and turns to go.

"Charlie?"

He stops. Todd isn't sure if he wants to ask or not….

"Do you think Neil's okay?"

"Sure," said Charlie. "He's been dealing with his father forever, Todd. Don't worry about him. He'll be back tomorrow, and we'll talk about it."

Todd lay back down, wanting to believe. Charlie turned out the light for him and left, before Todd could say "thank you."

Something doesn't feel right. Maybe it's just him being pathetic about sleeping alone, but he's got a suspicion that it's more than that. He wants to call Neil - but it's already 11 o'clock; it would only make it worse for the actor if his father was further provoked. For a fleeting moment, Todd contemplates sneaking out and walking all the way to Neil's house or maybe even catching a late night bus. He could even borrow Neil's bicycle…. But then he remembers the snow and the frigid air and the likelihood of such an expedition ending well. He guesses he can't go out either.

He sighs and turns on his side. He really doesn't like being alone in this room. It's not right. It makes him realize just how comforting Neil's presence is.

But he doesn't realize that he'll regret this moment forever.

* * *

IV.

Neil hears nothing on his divine descent of the stairs. The wood doesn't creak, and his parents don't stir from their room. Nothing is going to stop him tonight.

The floor's cold under his feet, but he doesn't make a sound. He slips into the office, sits down at the desk, takes the key and unlocks the drawer. His solution is folded up in cloth, and he lays it down before him gently.

The shadows of naked branches sway behind him in the windows, and the sky is clear. He stares hard at the cloth, harder than he's ever looked at anything. The silence is so consuming, he would be perturbed if he wasn't in an altered state of mind.

Doesn't this contradict everything he stands for? Isn't this surrender? Won't they win? Could the Dead Poets - and Mr. Keating - ever forgive him? He knows that whatever he chooses is final. Each choice has it's consequences, and he's going to lose one way or the other.

There is no life without acting. It's not an option anymore. He can't go back to being who he was before Keating opened his eyes to the way every man should live. He can't give up his purpose, can't lie anymore. He knows who he is. He finally knows who he is, and maybe that's exactly why this choice makes sense.

He doesn't think of Todd. He doesn't think of Charlie. He doesn't think of anything, except what his future will be like if he gives anyone a chance to control it. He can't lose control. He can't stop living.

Carpe Diem.

* * *

V.

When he felt someone shake him, he thought it was Neil, anxious to tell him about his night. Instead, he found Charlie at his bedside and the twilight just barely breaking the dark through the window. When he noticed Charlie's tears, he sat up.

"What's wrong?"

Charlie - the daredevil even crazier than Neil, the smoker, the player, the guy with a saxophone and a sense of humor - stared at him numbly, and Todd thought his eyes had turned gray.

"Neil's dead," he whispered.

* * *

VI.

Todd had never seen that morning's snow anywhere else - a pure snow that covered everything in sight, coming down in silence. He wanted to see it as he knew Neil would want to see it, so he trudged out far enough to leave the school behind. The others followed him, and Charlie even smiled when he said it was beautiful.

He hadn't expected the vomit. He hadn't expected the pain slamming into him, deflating his lungs and popping his tear ducts. He hadn't thought that Charlie would kneel down beside him and clean his face with snow, so tenderly, going back to tears. He hadn't thought Knox would hold him from behind and weep into his coat. He hadn't expected this.

They let him run away. And when he screamed "Neil" - the name of his god, his friend, his joy - no one answered him.

* * *

VII.

A few days after Mr. Keating and Charlie left, Todd got a small card in the mail - an invitation to the funeral. He called Charlie, who was turning out to be his strength, and told him he wasn't sure if he wanted to go. Charlie told him he should, that they should all go together - because God knows they would be the only ones there that loved Him.

"You okay?"

Todd didn't say much anymore. He was going through Neil's last pack of cigarettes as if he was running out of time.

"Yeah," he said. They both knew it was bullshit.

"Thanks for - everything," Todd murmured. Charlie squeezed his burning eyes on the other side and resisted the urge to hold his heart.

"I'll see you there."

* * *

VIII.

They didn't bother having a wake. Everyone just showed up at the cemetery, a small crowd - his parents, old family friends, the neighbors, the headmaster. The Dead Poets - without Cameron - huddled together apart from the rest, with Mr. Keating standing stiffly amongst them. Charlie held onto Todd and Knox, who stood on either side of him, and Chris squeezed Knox's other hand. Meeks and Pitts stood morosely behind them.

The breeze touched the bundle of white flowers that lay on his coffin - and Todd wept silently. He'd been doing a lot of that lately. All the other men who shielded him, the only people who loved him, spent their own tears. The only other person who cried was Mrs. Perry, and Todd didn't know if he should be devastated for saying goodbye or angry that so few people in the world loved his best friend.

The Dead Poets were the last ones left, after the others walked away. One by one, they passed by the casket, saying their final words or touching the wood or leaving something for him.

Todd was last.

He knelt down in the snow, one hand on the coffin.

"I love you," he whispered, and kissed the wood. No one mind now.

There was so much more he wanted to say - but he left it in his folded letter. And more than anything in the world, he wished he would get an answer.


End file.
